


FFXIV Writes 2020

by Robin_Redd



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Scars, Trans Male Character, spoilers for Tales from the Shadows: Ere Our Curtain Falls, spoilers for patch 5.3, spoilers for the sapphire weapon quest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:28:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 6,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26252677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robin_Redd/pseuds/Robin_Redd
Summary: my submissions for ffxiv writes this year!
Kudos: 3





	1. 01 - Crux

**Author's Note:**

> have a shorter piece today for the word Crux

Lavaris stared at the ceiling, praying for release. He’d first begged Hydaelyn, and when those prayers went unanswered, he’d turned to the Twelve. He’d even whispered a few words to Zodiark, hoping that someone would take this accursed light from him. He could feel it stronger now, a parasite worming its way into his chest. He could feel it moving. It coated the inside of his veins, pushed deeper with every beat of his heart. It was eroding him. It hurt. It wasn’t the sharp pain of a broken bone, it was dull, a deep ache that would flare whenever he breathed wrong. Lavaris squeezed his eyes shut. The curtains were drawn tight against the light outside, a constant reminder of his failing. Emet-Selch's words echoed in his head, so much that he wanted to dig his fingers into his mind and pluck them out. They always came when the pain was worse. Lavaris could hear him as the ache sharpened, lancing through his body as the light ate away at his insides so that the skin might be thin enough for it to burst forth. Lavaris groaned in pain, a pathetic choking as the agony crested and the shattered pieces of his soul pressed through muscle to poke out of his skin. It drove out all thought save for a silent plea of “not now.” He laid a hand on his chest and could feel the phantom edges cutting into him as he urged them back down. His instinct was to fight, to beg for one more moment of life even when death would be kinder. As it always did, the pieces of him slid back into place, and the light faded back to a low pulse. And, as he always did, Lavaris considered Emet-Selch's offer, and wondered if it might not be better to lose himself under the sea.


	2. 02 - Sway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sway - to control or influence (a person or course of action). 
> 
> In which R'bhin Tia doesn't realize he's convinced Emet-Selch that saving the world might be worth it

If someone had told R’bhin two years ago that one day, he’d travel to another shard and attempt to save that world from certain doom, he would have called it weird, but honestly not that far off the mark. Now, if someone had told him that that adventure would involve sharing a fire with an ascian, and that neither of them were actively hostile, he would have asked if that person had hit their head. Perhaps they needed medical attention. He would be willing to grab the doctor if they would just have a seat. 

And yet here he was. R’bhin leaned over the pot that bubbled on the fire. Leif had found familiar ingredients while she’d been scouting the forest and O’fir had managed to snare a couple of rabbits. The result was looking to be a hearty stew – R'bhin’s specialty. He could feel Emet-Selch's eyes on him as he brought the spoon to his lips to taste. He reminded himself that his sword was arm's length away, and even without his shield he would be fine. There was a dagger tucked into his boot as well, and worse came to worse, he was trained in hand-to-hand combat as well. Still, his skin itched as the ascian’s eyes tracked his movements as he reached into the pouch at his waist and tossed a bit more salt into the pot. 

“I didn’t think your type ate, so I doubt you’re staring because you’re hungry.” He said. Settling back against a tree, he met Emet-Selch's gaze across the fire. 

“And here I thought the great Hero of Light had forgone such ignorance. Of course I eat. My body is no less flesh and bone than yours; my stomach no less empty.” 

“Right.” R’bhin’s eyes narrowed. 

“Besides, hero, your food smells divine. Who would have thought you had such a talent for cooking.” for a moment, he saw something flicker in Emet-Selch's eyes. A brief flash of sadness before it was gone. Maybe he was getting better at reading the man, or maybe he was just imagining things. 

“...my dad taught me. Or...well I guess I had to learn.” 

“Oh, do tell me more,” the words could have been sarcastic but there was no bite to them. Emet-Selch seemed to have shifted forward imperceptivity. 

R’bhin hesitated, his ears pressing back against his head, “Well... when dad found me, I was a kitten. He took me in, brought me out of Ul’dah proper and we settled in one of the mining towns outside it. While he worked the mines, I learned to cook so that he could have hot food when he got home. It seemed only right.” 

“So your heroism persisted even then,” Emet-Selch drawled. 

“I wouldn’t really call it heroism, but yeah, I guess so. I wanted to help whoever I could, and I always had itchy feet.” 

“And so, you became an adventurer.” 

“No... I became one for gil. I wanted to make it so dad didn’t have to work so hard as he got older. I stayed an adventurer because well... Someone had to do it, right? Someone has to face the evils of the world or rally the people into fighting for themselves.” 

“So you are willing to ruin yourself to save your world? How typical. Have you told the others? That you can feel the light inside you? That it’s chipping away at your insides? It truly is typical of your sort. You think that by destroying yourself you can save the world, and yet all you do is cause more pain.” 

R’bhin froze. How did Emet-Selch know that? “Well what’s the other option? To do nothing? To let our world fall to ruin?” He was leaning forward now, and something tingled in the back of his mind. Words were spilling out of him, this felt like an old argument. Emet-Selch looked at him across the fire, his brows drawn together as if he were trying to figure out a puzzle. “Besides, it’s not just me that’s fighting. If we all work together then there’s nothing we can’t do. And besides, if my actions inspire someone to take up the mantle after I’m gone -” 

“That’s enough.” Emet-Selch's expression had gone cold, and he stared at R’bhin, his lips turned down in a scowl. “We shall see how long you can contain that light. I do hope you can succeed, -“ Emet-Selch said his name. R’bhin was sure he had. His ears rang with it. He felt it caress something deep inside him. For a moment, his soul sang with familiarity, and he found himself wanting to cross the fire and close the distance between them. And then the moment was gone, and R’bhin was blinking, his heart too loud in his ears. 

“Right well... I intend to do everything I can.” 

“You always did.”


	3. 03 - Muster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Muster - to summon
> 
> In which going home to face your father is harder than facing down three gods and an ascian

R’bhin stood outside his father’s home, his tail swishing behind him. It had been months since he’d written him, and even longer since he’d written. He knew he was likely upset. When he’d left for Ul’dah, he’d promised his father that he was just going to be a craftsman. The worst trouble he was going to get in was becoming a gladiator. He’d ruined that almost immediately by joining the adventurer's guild. He knew there was money in doing odd jobs, and he thought the smaller ones would be fine. He hadn’t expected to save the Sultana. He hadn’t known he would retrieve her crown and be asked to be an ambassador to the other city-states. He hadn’t meant to meet Thancred, to join a Grand Company, to face down one god, let alone three. He hadn’t wanted to get wrapped up in an ascian’s web or save the world as Hydaelyn’s chosen. He’d told his father he was just going to be a craftsman, and that had been a lie. He now stood outside his door, trying to muster the courage to step inside. He deserved to know what his son was doing... Still, he stood rooted in spot, marveling that he’d stormed a Garlaean base to destroy a superweapon with less fear that it took facing his soft-hearted father. Swallowing, R’bhin straightened his back, his chainmail clinking. He rested his hand on his sword, reminding himself that he was in the uniform of a Paladin. Surely his father would be proud. Taking a deep breath, R’bhin pushed the door to his childhood home open and stepped inside.


	4. 04 - Clinch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clinch - to confirm or settle
> 
> In which Leif gives Silvairre an ultimatum. TW for mention of drug us. TW for vague reference to suicide

“We need to talk.” Leif sat behind her desk; her lips drawn down in a small frown. 

Silvairre sat stiff across from him, looking at her until the Veara met his eyes. He looked away, eyes settling on the missives pinned to the wall behind him. He couldn’t read what they were for, but no doubt they had to do with the various jobs she was often sent on. It was hard to believe there were so many in the two years they’d been adventuring together. They’d all rallied around R’bhin, but as the Warrior of Light of the Source, it was to be expected. After all, they’d come together not because of chance or need, but out of the desire of a fractured soul wanting to be whole again. Really, it was hypocritical of them. The ascians wanted to glue the shards back together and their team was proof that a rejoined soul was stronger. 

“Silvairre.” Leif sounded worried. Silvairre knew how he looked. When was the last time he’d slept? Two? Three days ago. He was coming down off his high and with it came a wave of exhaustion. 

“Yes?” His tongue felt heavy, his jaw tight. Every so often his right eye would twitch. 

“I really didn’t want to have to do this. I was... content to let you do what you wanted on your own time. I... knew you were going through something and you’re an adult, I thought you could sort through your own shit.” Leif was frowning at him. She looked uncomfortable. 

“Wonderful, then we’re done here.” 

“Silvairre... I’m worried about you... we all are. Kelili says that when she came to check on you, you were-” 

“I don’t want to talk about that.” 

“If she wasn’t in the habit of carrying potions you would have died, Silvairre.” 

“Stop saying my name like that.” 

“Like what?” 

“Like you care about me! Like we’re friends! We’re not. You said you needed me for a job and I’ve done it. That’s it.” 

“That’s not true.” Leif’s ears pressed back against her head as it often did when she was upset. Good. Silvarre’s mind hissed. Maybe it meant she would leave him alone. “I’m worried about you! You’re part of this family whether you like it or not. I want you to get help, Silvairre. I’ve already spoken to Frondale's Phrontistery-” 

“You spoke to the guild about this!” He demanded, knocking his chair over as he stood. 

“I’ve spoken to them about treatment, Silvairre, and Severian agrees with me. He’s already started setting things up and has agreed to be discreet.” Her voice shook, tears shining in her eyes. “Please... I’m worried about you. I love you, SIlvairre, and I don’t want to lose you, but I can’t do this anymore.” 

Silvairre froze, looking at her. He’d known Leif a long time. He’d been beside her through all of their adventures. He’d held her hand when she’d lost her sister, had raged with her when they’d found the person that killed her. They’d laughed and joked and fucked. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Leif cry. “What do you mean you can’t do this anymore?” 

“This!” She waved her hand, gesturing to him. “Whatever this thing is between us. If you don’t get help, then I can’t be a part of your life anymore. You’re a liability to the rest of us, and I don’t want to walk into your apartment and find you dead, damn it.” 

Silvairre stared at her, weighing the truth of her words. He could see the resolve there. The thought of not having her in his life sat like a lump of ice in his stomach. “...Okay.” he said softly. He felt lightheaded, as if he were speaking through cotton. “I-I’ll do it...you’re right. Of course, you’re right.” The enormity of his words made knots of his stomach. “I’ll go now...” 

Leif looked surprised, pushing away from the desk to step around it and stand in front of him. She was a head shorter than he was, her ears still pressed back in worry. “I’ll... walk you if it’s all the same to you.” 

Silvairre nodded, and when she took his hand, he felt the two of them dissolve, only to reform near the aetherite in Ul’dah. He knew he couldn’t lose her. He would never recover.


	5. 05 - Matter of Fact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which R'bhin explains to Blanstyr exactly why armor is important

“Blanstyr, can we talk?” R’bhin asked his tail swishing behind him in agitation. 

“What do ya need?” he responded R’bhin looked up at him. There might have been a time when such a large, imposing person would have intimidated him, but things had changed. He’d become something far more than just an adventurer. 

“I just... wanted to say that I admire you... for being able to temper your pride a bit,” this earned him a scowl, and R’bhin continued. “You have the right idea that experience wearing armor can make all the difference. It’s how I learned.” 

“That so?” 

R’bhin smiled, thinking over the past two years. He’d only just returned home from the First, and with nothing that needed his attention, he had time to focus on his craft. “Well yeah... look.” he started to unbutton his shirt. 

“What in seven hells do you think you’re doing, boy?” Blanstyr snarled, taking a step back. 

Shaking his head, he let his shirt fall off his soulder, showing a mess of scar tissue there. “A Garlean bullet punched through my chainmail. Hurt like a bitch, and my healer spent hours picking shards of metal out of the wound.” When Blanstyr said nothing, he turned, showing him his side, “Bandit found a weak point in my plate, it felt like it cut to the spine.” He showed him his left arm, while there were claw marks scored his forearm, each as wide across as his own palm. The skin around it was burnt and warped. “Ifrit did that one. The leather buckle gave out in the heat.” He met Blanstyr’s eyes, “And the smaller marks on my chest? Titan caved in my arm because the plate was too weak.” 

“By the Twelve, you’re-” 

R’bhin shook his head, “Don’t. I’ve taken great pains to make sure that the guilds don’t know who exactly they’re working with. After about the third time my armor almost got me killed, I thought it might be better if I learned how to make my own. At least that way if it fails it’s my own damn fault.” he said matter-of-factly. “I’ve got more scars than I can count, and each one taught me something new about what to look out for, how to improve and ensure that it doesn't happen to someone else.” He buttoned his shirt back up, “Just keep that in mind next time you decide you know what the client needs better than they do.”


	6. 06 - Free Day/A Chance Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which R'bhin meets his future wife, leaving no doubt that he and Ardbert are in fact the same person

Of all the things she expected to fine on the road to Limsa-Lominsa, a body was not one of them. Kelili was pretty sure it was a body. A miqo-te body, specifically. He a brown-haired man who couldn’t have been older than she was and was dressed in armor that looked like it had seen better days. A sword laid cast aside on the side of the road and the shield still attached to his arm was badly dented. She crept forward slowly, her hand resting on the book at her hip. She didn’t know an abundance of healing magic, not that it would matter if the person was dead. Still... she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she just left a body here. 

“Hello?” Tapping the bottom of his boot with her toe. The body groaned in pain, its ears twitching backwards. Kelili yelped and rushed to his side. She was already opening her book, frantically looking for the healing spells she’d penned in it. Murmuring the words, his body was soon enveloped by a soft, blue glow. She watched as his chest rose and fell, rapidly at first, but evening out as the pain faded. When she was sure she’d done what she could, Kelili stepped forward again. The miqo’te’s eyes were open, and she met their vivid green stare. “Sir? I know you’re not all right, but if you can understand me, I can’t get you out of the road myself.” He was more than twice her size, and was wearing a full set of armor. 

“I don’t know if I can move.” He rasped, but he pushed himself up slowly, wincing as something pulled. “I feel like I should hurt worse than this?” 

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing, laying in the middle of the road like that.” The man scooped up his sword, frowning when he saw that the blade was badly nicked. 

“I didn’t mean to. I was tailing some bandits – the Grinning Gibbons I think - and didn’t realize until it was too late that they’d led me into an ambush.” 

Kelili’s eyes narrowed at that. “What kind of adventurer goes off on his own to tangle with the Gibbons and almost gets himself killed in the process.” 

“The kind who hadn’t found an adventuring party yet. I’m R’bhin by the way. Thank you for saving me. If you’d like, you can look for me in Limsa next time you’re there. I’d be happy to buy you a drink as thanks. Right now, I have something to take care of.” He started walking in the opposite direction of the city. 

Kelili shook her head, “Like hells am I letting you go after the Gibbons after they just tore you a new one. Besides, I can’t have that drink if you’re dead.” She nodded to him. “I’m coming with you. Clearly you need someone to make sure you don’t die.”


	7. 07 - Nonagenarian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Warrior of Light grows old, despite all odds

Growing old was not something R’bhin had expected. In his youth, he’d been wild, a girl left on the streets of Ul’dah until the man who would be her father found her. Starvation was always a day away back then, but she survived. In her teens she’d been stubborn. She wanted to help her father as he worked the mines. She taught herself the sword, and took up hunting to feed them. Things were tight but they were happy. She brought his spoils to Ul’dah to sell and discovered that perhaps he wasn’t a girl at all. As an adult, R’bhin had been a hero. He’d defended his father during the Calamity, had taken up adventuring and fought in the Coliseum. He’d fought bandits, and then primals, and then asceans. He’d traveled to far off nations, to other worlds. He’d found love and happiness, had had a son with his best friend that he’d raised with his wife. Life had been dangerous. He would have given his life to save his world, to save all worlds, and many times he almost did. There had been enemies that had been too strong, that had left him injured and on the brink of death, but he’d had friends by his side to pull him back. 

Old age was not something he’d expected to see, and yet here he was, nearly at his hundredth year sitting in the warm light of their sunroom. In their stands around him were the weapons he’d mastered, carefully polished. He suspected when he died, they should go to a museum, though perhaps his sword should go back to the Paladins. He knew his soul stones were carefully preserved with their respective guilds; students could learn from him and his struggles. 

Oswin was coming over with his husband, bringing his grandchildren. Every time he saw them, he remembered why he’d fought so hard seventy years ago. To see their smiling faces, his family, the next generation growing and thriving in a world that he had ensured was safe. That path had come with pain and loss. It had dragged him to the depths of hell. R’bhin smiled as Kelili came to him, her face lined, her hair grey, but she was no less lovely than the day he met her. Behind her was his son and son-in-law both, and they were holding an infant, a small miqo’te with ears far too big for her head. 

“Dad?” Oswin said, kneeling before R’bhin’s rocking chair. “There’s someone we want you to meet.” R’bhin held out his hands and took the child, feeling his granddaughter warm and alive in his arms. Tears burned at the back of his throat and the girl looked up at him, a smile spreading across her tiny face. 

“She’s beautiful.” He whispered, clutching her to his breast. 

Despite everything, it all worth it, in the end.


	8. 08 - Clamor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which R'bhin hates parties actually, but he loves his best friend

R’bhin’s smile was frozen in place, his knuckles tight around the stem of his glass. Parties always made him tense, especially the ones in Ul’dah. He remembered hearing about them when he’d been on the streets and thinking that they were these amazing, events full of food and laughter. That notion lasted right until the first dinner held in his honor. He was surprised to find them boring and borderline patronizing. The only thing people knew about the Warrior of Light was that he was an adventurer that had done great things. The Scions had taken great pains to ensure that anything else about his private life stayed that way. Unfortunately, it meant nobility didn’t consider that their savior might be a former street kid, raised by a refugee, who a year ago, they would have spat on as soon as looked at him. They didn’t know that he’d fought in the Coliseum not because it was noble, but because it afforded his aging father a level of comfort. 

The first time someone spoke opening about their distaste for the beggars near the market, R’bhin had been so shocked he hadn’t known what to say. It was only his reminder that people didn’t know his past. Rage had settled in his stomach, and Kelili had let him rant about it on the way home. His distaste for these events only grew, and that was to say nothing for the disastrous party that had left them fleeing to Ishgard. 

“Is that so?” R’bhin said. He’d perfected the art of seeming to listen. He jumped when he heard a crash behind him. He dropped his glass, turning and drawing his sword in the same movement. His gaze swept over the scene. Xieron had stumbled into a server, knocking the man into a table laden with food. R’bhin’s brows drew together as the Auri man met his eyes before glancing to the door he knew was behind him. 

He didn’t need to be told twice. He could see Silvairre already moving towards the fallen server, scolding Xieron the entire time. Sheathing his sword, he slipped out of the party in the commotion, taking a deep breath of the night air. He leaned against the balcony, looking out over the city while he collected himself. It was several minutes before he heard someone behind him, feeling the warmth of his friend as he settled beside him. “I hope you didn’t get int too much trouble.” 

“No,” Xieron replied, taking up the same position R’bhin had, his hands braced on the railing. “I don’t like these things either.” When Xieron looked towards him, he was smiling that familiar crooked smile. R’bhin’s heart squeezed. Reaching up, he curled a hand into his shirt and pulled him down, pressing the softest of kisses on his lips. 

“Thank you.” There were few people that understood him as well as Xieron did. Kelili did, of course, but she was his wife. He sometimes felt he could be a little less refined with his Xaela lover. “I think after that no one would fault us for going home.” The clamoring had calmed down, but he was sure they could slip out unnoticed. Besides, he wanted to show Xieron exactly how much he appreciated him.


	9. 09 - Lush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Leif, the viera, has a discussion with her Hrothgar mentor in her garden, and I realize that two of my warriors of light were adopted by strong cat dads

Leif was in the garden again. In the years he’d known her, Matej had seen her in her garden hundreds of times. She took great pains to make it beautiful, despite the fact that he knew many of the plants doubled as poisons. It was a luscious bed of death, the perfect thing for the deadly assassin that had become one of the Warriors of Light. No one would expect it by looking at Leif. Even now, her honey hair was pulled back from her face in a low bun. Her ears poked out of her sunhat and the sundress she wore made her look as sweet and innocent as the day he’d met her. The old hrothgar smiled, leaning against the fence to watch her work. 

“You all right there, Leif?” He said. She was in the garden again, a scowl on her face as she worked. She jumped, earning her a bout of rolling laughter. “Goddess help you, girl, I know I taught you better than that. Always-” 

“Keep an eye on my surroundings,” She said, and she suddenly reminded him of the teenager she’d been when he’d met her. So young and lost in the world. He’d taken her under his wing, taught her his trade. “I know. I’m just...” 

“Troubles with that elezen of yours, again?” He asked, stepping into the garden. He could almost feel the plants. Not like she said she could, but the knowledge that they were deadly. He recognized many of them from his own work, though he delt more in information these days than blood. 

“No....” She sighed, carefully kneeling down to snip a few leaves off of a flower. It was glorious and vibrant, the bright orange petals the same shade as her dress. “I don’t know, Matej, it’s been a long few weeks.” He stepped closer and passed him a pair of gloves, “The nightshade needs pruning,” she added before going back to her work. 

“I heard from Tataru that you just got back from Turncliff.” he offered gently. 

He heard her sigh. “R’bhin has been... indisposed since the pregnancy, so the rest of us are picking up the slack. I was voted to go to deal with the weapons.” Matej said nothing, letting the silence stretch between them. He knew her well enough that she’d tell him when she was ready. He carefully set aside the trimmings from his work, moving slowly around the patch in search of weeds. Her voice was quiet again when she spoke. “They thought I would have the easiest time, all things considered. I mean I’m used to killing, but...” He hummed in response to let her know he was listening. “They’re kids, Matej. I mean I’m good at our craft, but they’re what? Seventeen?” He heard her footsteps as she came to stand in front of him, her ears drooping. “And I get it, they’re Guias’ kids and seriously, fuck that guy, but... I don’t know... I can’t help but think... Aren’t we doing the same thing?” She busied herself with picking up the pile of clippings. 

“Hold up. How do you mean?” 

“I mean if things were a little different, all of us chose to do this when we were pretty young. Maybe not seventeen - well except for C’ythis - but young, and they probably look at us and thing the same thing. That we’re just some mindless killing machine, that we’ll stop at nothing to reach our goals. I mean R’bhin almost let himself become a gods damned Lightwarden to stop the Calamity, and-” 

“Easy there girl, take a breath.” Matej said, crossing his arms to study her. “Stop and think about what yer saying. You said they think of you as a mindless killing machine, do you feel like you are?” 

“...I don’t know.” She looked away, dragging her toe through the soft earth, “I don’t hate this line of work, you know that. I... I mean you don’t get good at what we do if you don’t like it, but...” 

“This one got to you, huh? Is it the kids?” 

“Yeah... I just wonder what they’re going through. You don’t support the Empire for no reason. I’m worried it goes deeper than just being raised by a colonizer. I don’t kill innocents, but they’re... somewhere in between.” 

“Would it put your mind to rest if I took a look into it?” 

“You’d go into Garlean territories just for me?” 

“You know I would. Besides,” he looked around the garden, “It’ll help ya rest, give information to the right people, and I wouldn’t say no to a few special plants.” He gave her a smile, his teeth white against his dark fur. 

“...write down what you want. Just... anything you can find out. If they are guilty or something, I’d feel better.” 

“And if they’re not?” 

“Then I’ll have somewhere to go from there.”


	10. 10 - Avail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Avail: to use or take advantage
> 
> In which Hythlodaeus uses his position for unintended purposes

Hythlodaeus didn’t always take advantage of his position as the Chief the Bureau of the Architect, but when he did, it was to ensure that Azem would keep at least one of their coffee dates. He’d known giving him the concept of Ifrita would land his friend in trouble. It was unsurprising when the Convocation disavowed his actions, and even after returning home with a bottle of wine for their beloved Emet-Selch, he’d been furious with them both. Azem had gotten a verbal lashing not just from the Convocation, but from Emet-Selch personally. Hythlodaeus had thought himself glad that he hadn’t been a fly on the wall for that, but it seemed he didn’t need to be. Emet-Selch had turned his sights on him when Azem had went somewhere to sulk. 

“What were you thinking?” He hissed, and Hythlodaeus thought he looked a bit like a cat in that moment, tense and spitting mad. 

He pretended to think, dragging a finger over his lips, “Well... Azem did promise me two bottles of wine from the island.” 

“That doesn’t matter. Can you imagine what would have happened if he’d gotten himself killed, caught in the eruption.” 

“I’d imagine a new Azem would be appointed.” 

That was, apparently, the wrong thing to say. Hythlodeaus had to bite his tongue to stop from laughing as Emet-Selch puffed up further. “That’s not the point! You are constantly enabling his reckless behavior! You avail your position, and allow our friend to-” 

“To get himself into trouble with the Convocation, yes.” Hythlodaeus leaned forward on his toes, smirking from behind his mask. “Don’t act as if you’re not delighted that he’s been grounded for the next two months. Can you truly say it’s the worst fate in the world that my friend, your greatest love is going to be waiting for you at home? Perhaps he’ll even put you through your paces and you’ll relax for once.” 

Emet-Selch was still glaring at him, but the corners of his lips had softened slightly. Hythlodaeus took that as a win. “Regardless of my wishes, Azem has never been capable of staying in one place for long. He won’t be happy-” 

“He will be. Take some time off, spend some time with your lover. I miss him too. I did this for us, Hades.” So rare was it that his true name got used that Emet-Selch took in a sharp breath, “Besides, Azim was in no danger. He has always been capable of taking care of himself.” 

Hades sighed deeply. He dragged his hand through his hair, knocking his hood off his head. “I swear you are going to get removed from your position if you continue to act so selfishly.” 

“Only if I’m reported.” Hythlodaeus leaned closer, flicking the nose of Emet-Selch's mask. “When next you see our friend, tell him I expect him at my apartment before the coffee gets cold.”


	11. 11 - Ultracrepidarian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ultracrepidarion - to speak outside your scope of knowledge
> 
> this fic assumed that Chirurgeon or something similar will be the next healing class. Silvairre is that

Silvairre hissed in pain as a pounding on the door woke him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept, but he’d finally collapsed after several days of manic working. It was unfortunate that mere minutes later he’d awoken to a pounding on his door. A significant part of him had considered pretending he wasn’t home, but he didn’t feel like replacing yet another door. He’d dragged himself up, pulling a somewhat clean white coat over his clothes, though he needn't have bothered. The moment his lock clicked open, a large man was shoved into his arms, smearing blood all down his front. This was followed by a gaggle of the man’s companions. 

“Doc.” Smashed Bolder said, nodding his direction. He didn’t need to look at the golden bracelet around each of their wrists to know that Ul’dah’s most infamous mafia was paying him another visit. 

Silvairre cursed, “If you want me to patch him up, I need one of you to carry him to the exam room.” He shoved the man back on one of his kin, storming towards his lab. The alchemist’s guild had been more than happy to have a Chirurgeon among them – and one that was Sharlayan trained. The local crime rings had been delighted to discover that that self-same doctor had more than a passing interest in their “spice” trading. He’d struck a deal with them that he was very suddenly regretting. 

The large highlander man was hoisted onto a table set up there, groaning in pain. He was surprised the man had reached him as anything but a corpse. Something had dug into him, carving out chunks of his chest. Silvairre immediately set to work, ignoring the weakness that trembled through his body. The man’s companions set themselves up around the room, all of them watching him as he used magic to stop the worst of the bleeding. 

“Can one of you make yourselves useful and pass me the bag over there.” he flicked his hand in the direction of the counter, spraying blood across the floor, but his focus didn’t leave his patient. Someone set it beside his elbow and Silviarre reached inside, pulling out several rolls of bandages, a needle and sinew, and a potion that glowed an almost imperceptible green. He pulled the stopper off with his teeth and upended the potion directly into the wounds, the wound bubbled and steamed. The man screamed in pain, twisting in pain. 

“What the hells are you doing!?” One of the men asked, stepping forward to grab Silviarre’s wrist. 

“I have to clean the wound.” He said, his eyes burning with hatred. The bones of his wrist ground together as the man gripped him tighter. 

“Not with acid you don't. Besides, you’re a mage. You don’t have to hurt him.” 

“I think he’s just doing it on purpose.” 

“I’m not doing it with acid you fucking gibbon. It’s a cleaning solution of my own design, and I’m not fucking don’t it on purpose.” he spat, jerking his arm from the man’s grip. “It won’t matter if I close the wounds if they end up infected.” 

“Our old doctor never did that. He could just seal him up.” 

“Oh yes, please do tell me how many men your old doctor killed. I wasn’t aware you were trained as well! Why didn’t you tell me! If you know so much more, then perhaps you would like to stitch him up. Go on.” He watched as the man’s eyes flicked from his companion to Silvairre. The man on the table had stopped groaning, and the bleeding had all but stopped. The elezen man let out a relieved sigh when he stepped back, motioning for him to continue. Silviarre rolled his eyes and went back to work. He knew the alchemists respected his work, but they didn’t pay him nearly enough. He had to resort to working for people like this, who had no idea what he was doing. There were many that thought healing should be quick, that he should be able to stitch a wound with a wave of his hand, but it had always been more complex than that, and that wasn’t always the best option. A kernel of hatred burrowed in his chest, but he focused on his work. The quicker he was finished, the quicker he could sleep.


	12. 12 - Tooth and Nail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fight with Ifrit was R'bhin's hardest fought battle, if only because he was inexperienced

R’bhin had been asked once by a reporter, what the hardest fight he’d ever fought was. He’d laughed it off, pretended like he didn’t know. He’d cited battles that had been bad, but hadn’t pointed to any of them as the worst. That had been a lie. There was only one fight that he found himself returning to. That, even now, when he thought about going to fight that thing, it made his heart race, despite the fact that he could kill it in little more than a handful of blows. 

Ifrit. The first Primal he’d ever felled. 

He could remember it like it was yesterday, being dragged into the ritual grounds to be enslaved to the thing. He could feel the heat on his skin, the smell of sulfur and charred flesh. He’d watched others be Tempered, while he remained whole and sane, burdened with the knowledge that only he could stop it. There had been three other people who had remained free, people who would later become warriors of light alongside him. R’bhin had scooped up a fallen sword, feeling it burning into his palm. He’d hefted a shield whose strap cut in and left him with a burn mark across his forearm. The others, similarly had found weapons, and had followed him into battle as he threw himself in front of Ifrit. 

One of his companions, a man he would know later as the elezen Silvairre, turned out to be an extraordinary healer. He’d woven attacks in between restorative magics, keeping them all alive and using his shields to keep the worst of the heat away. Another, Zizia a viera woman, had used the heat of the fight to cause unbelievable explosions before chilling the air and weakening the false god. That was to say nothing about the auri monk who would one day become R’bhin’s boyfriend and the father of his child. Xieron danced between shots of flame, striking where Ifrit was vulnerable, all while R’bhin kept the Primal distracted, taking blow after blow on his shield and looking for an opening with his sword. 

The battle had been desperate. Sweat had trickled down his body in rivers, and he was at once relieved for his lack of armor, even if it left him vulnerable. Silvairre would tell him after the battle that he could do nothing about the scars across his chest where Ifrit had broken through his defense. The primal had cauterized the wound even as he’d attacked. R’bhin had remembered how it felt to send out a prayer, begging someone, anyone to listen and give them aid. They were inexperienced and ill-equip to handle such a battle. Someone must have heard him, because they came out the other side burned but no worse for wear. 

Later, as the Warrior of Light, he would have fights that would be harder. He would be taken to other worlds, fight ancient beings and things with so much more power behind them. He would risk life and limb over and over again, but nothing would compare to the fight with Ifrit. He’d simply been inexperienced. He hadn’t truly expected to be facing death. It had been the first time he’d faced impossible odds and come out the other side swinging, and that, of course, left a mark.


End file.
